


Again.

by gentian_violet



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:23:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentian_violet/pseuds/gentian_violet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm going to die kissing Simon Snow." But Baz, you have already. And you'd do it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Again.

1567

In a tiny field, resting on the coast of southern England, a blond man let grain fall from between his fingers, let the dark wheat bounce on the flagstones.  A little way down the lane a fisherman’s son ran from the water, nearly a man, swatting away his fathers angry stare. Perched upon a rock he looked down the beach, and the sea looked back. The great, endless, unsinkable might of it all, poised to drag him under and hold him in a cloud of white foam until he stilled. Byron could swim, any fisherman’s boy could, but the waves were surely faster than him. And they definitely hid things with more teeth than him. He turned to look at the fields behind him, far safer, with their dividing walls, idiotic sheep and: blond hair? 

Samuel could swim, but it had little to do with fish and more to do with hot summers, carelessness and the feel of cold water on sunburn. It may have had something to do with the sons of fishermen, but that was open to chance. The sons of fishermen it seemed, if the one swaying in front of him were an example, had left the water, and were invading the safe houses of the land-folk.   
“You know I can see you Samuel?”  
 So the sons of fishermen could speak after all, and this curious example knew his name. Samuel decided not to answer for a moment, unfolding himself from his seat against the wall, before leaning his elbows on the stone. Peering ashamedly at Byron, this lanky thing somehow balanced atop the stone, Samuel grinned. It was an evil grin, though some would call it mischievous, it incited freedom, and fire. It was the grin of a boy who would take you by the hand and dance on the hearth, dance until you burnt up in his grasp.

Byron doubted the grin would fade, not even when you charred before his eyes.  Byron batted at the long grass like a cat, until he drew his hand back and whacked a stalk with a sudden vehemence, it bent, broke, and hung loosely against his leg. Glancing at the still beaming Samuel, propped up on the wall like an eager schoolboy, unease flooded through Byron. Generally, at this point in a conversation, someone would have said something. Even if it was just to say goodbye, they wouldn’t just lean over a wall with that moronic expression. Samuel must, he decided, be quite simple.

He turned back to the sea, watching his father storm up the beach to their house, unsurprisingly Byron was avoiding home for the time being. Suddenly Samuel nudged his side, somehow the boy had hurdled the wall soundlessly. Settling himself on the rock beside Byron, still grinning incessantly. He must be simple; a sane, collected person would have found issue with this silent conversation.   
 “Can you see me now?  
” Byron resisted the urge to look at his smug expression, for he knew exactly what Samuel looked like smug, the left side of his mouth twitched up, all while his gaze narrowed upon his victim. Byron was not prepared to be on the receiving end of Samuel’s superior smirk, that was a punishment reserved for the coquettish girls that prowled the village. Instead, he occupied himself in twisting the grass around his hands, looping it over his fingers and itself. Annoyingly the silence didn’t seem to bother Samuel as he sat, shoulder bouncing off Byron’s as he swung his feet, smiling like only the confident can. Only those who can spurn advances in the safety of another on the horizon, those who know they’re liked.  He reached across Byron to twist the grass as well, untangling Byron’s hard work in doing so. He pushed him closer to the edge of the rock they were perched upon, one of Byron’s legs swinging off the edge of the stone. Who did Samuel think he was? First spying on him, and now this, it had taken Byron weeks to find this rock, far enough from the shore to discourage anyone asking him to help, yet close enough to claim eagerness, shaded from the brightest sun and with a tree to block the wind, flat enough to sit on and large enough to work on. And now this boy would take it from him? Would shove him off the edge and- 

“Oi, fisherman’s son, think you can do better than that?”  
 Samuel had tied a sloppy reef-knot with a couple of blades of grass, he gestured at it proudly.   
“Firstly, I’m Byron-“  
“Samuel, but I think you knew that already.”  
  Byron wondered if the men at the shore were close enough to identify him, if not, he might be tempted to punch this smug little bastard. He smiled a close lipped smile, getting another beaming grin in return.   
“Well? Can you?” 

Samuel pointed again at the knot in the grass, it was starting to unravel now, the blades slipping free one by one. He was trying to get a rise out of Byron, however obvious his methods may be. And damn it, it was working.  “I couldn’t hope to best: that,” he waved his hand in the direction of Samuel’s frayed and quickly dissolving knot. He should leave this here, Samuel was going to be smug no matter what he did now, it was in the boy’s nature.  Regardless, Byron reached down to the grass and held it between his fingers. He could feel Simon’s expectant gaze, but rather than tying a knot, he let just the smallest heat escape from his hand. The flame caught almost instantly, spreading down the green blade before simmering out in the damp soil. Samuel gasped audibly from behind his shoulder, Byron couldn’t help but feel a little proud, he had wiped away that smirk after all. Samuels hand came down heavy on Byron’s shoulder.  
 “Again.”  
He said, in barely a whisper. Byron shifted uncomfortably under his touch, where Samuel’s fingers dug into his arm stung. Not unpleasantly, not like a bee sting or a burn, nor pleasantly, it just stung.   He shifted his eyes back to Samuel’s, the blond boy was still staring at him, like he was the new curiosity at the freak show. Byron touched another blade with the tip of his finger, letting the flame wash down towards the soil, this time, Samuel never looked at the fire, he kept his gaze fixed squarely on the fire-starter. Byron turned, expecting Samuel to be angry, or at least scared. He was expecting Samuel to strike him, or at least offer a withering look. He wasn’t expecting this. In fact he nearly fell off the side of the stone, jerking away from the sudden closeness of Samuel’s face. In the brief second as he was falling, before he steadied himself, he saw hurt flash across Samuel’s face. But really, he wasn’t surprised when Samuel grabbed his arm, the boy never did take no for an answer.  Hauling him upright Samuel pulled Byron close to him again, the fisherman’s boy hadn’t run yet, couldn’t tell the reverend, not when he’d just burnt the grass, the fisherman’s boy was tall, interesting, and here.  He tasted good too. 

The tall boy wilted under him, letting him force a hand into his hair, only complaining when he made to pull away, a low keening noise that tightened every muscle in Samuel. He pushed further against Byron, surprised that the boy let him. Byron let Samuel force him back until he had to drop his left hand down to support himself, Samuels lips stung just like his fingers, low intensity electric shocks, only now they were everywhere, where Samuel’s hand tugged at his hair, where his other hand still clung to his forearm, where his side was pressed against Byron’s. He didn’t have to think about it, he just let go. Let Samuel press closer and closer to him, let the heat flow out of his hand. It was almost better that Samuel, these shocks that ran together in his arm, pouring out of his hand. He knew he was singeing some grass blades, but did he care? Samuel tried to draw back again, taking the sparks with him: no. Byron moved with him, desperate to not loose his touch, trying to ignore the heat on the back of his neck. Samuel looked over Byron’s shoulder, at all the burning grass, it was burning too hot for grass, it should be too damp. No one told the fire, it spread to the wheat in seconds, that burnt faster.   Somewhere, Byron could here the men at the shore yell, they would have seen the fire by now. It was too late to get out of the way, he knew just how hot his fires burnt. So he kissed the blond boy, hungry for those shocks. None came, but Samuel did, he came closer and closer as the fire lapped at the edges of his seat. They were so close, the boy who would dance in the hearth, and the one that lit it.


End file.
